The Road That Is Built In Hope

There's No "magic Secret"; Writing Is Like Everything Else; Ten Percent Inspiration Or Talent, And Ninety Percent Hard Work. Persistence; Keeping At It Till You Get There. As Agnes De Mille Said, It Means Working Every Day—bored, Tired, Weary, Or With A Fever Of A Hundred And Two.

I've Been A Schoolteacher. I Always Try To Get The Kids To Finish Talking Before The Next One Starts

Rome Was Mud And Smoky Skies; The Rank Smell Of The Tiber And The Exotically Spiced Cooking Fires Of A Hundred Different Nationalities. Rome Was White Marble And Gilding And Heady Perfumes; The Blare Of Trumpets And The Shrieking Of Market-women And The Eternal, Sub-aural Hum Of More People, Speaking More Languages Than Gaius Had Ever Imagined Existed, Crammed Together On Seven Hills Whose Contours Had Long Ago Disappeared Beneath This Encrustation If Humanity. Rome Was The Pulsing Heart Of The World.

Morgaine Laughed And Mocked, But When It Was A Real Trouble, No One Could Be Kinder.

The Road That Is Built In Hope Is More Pleasant To The Traveler Than The Road Built In Despair, Even Though They Both Lead To The Same Destination.